


The Long Haul

by Charlotte351



Category: All American (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Drug Addiction, Football, Gen, Recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27965693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlotte351/pseuds/Charlotte351
Summary: Asher Adams needed to be better. He had to keep his position. He had to get his name back out there on college's radar. But he was running out of time. It was seeming like steroids were the best way to move up his timetable.But lying was harder than he thought, and his dad's declining condition wasn't helping things either. He just has to finish the season. Get through the season, get offered a full ride, get the hell out of dodge. Simple. Asher didn't need the drugs, didn't need his friends, and didn't need his dad. And he most definitely didn't need help.Now if only he could convince Olivia of that.
Relationships: Asher Adams/Olivia Baker, Spencer James/Layla Keating
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	The Long Haul

Asher was stuck.

Not physically of course. More in a metaphorical sense. He wasn’t improving in his workouts. For lack of a better term, he had peaked.

Looking at his max weight on the bench, he felt like he could cry. If anyone else asked, though, he felt like he could kick, scream, punch, rage. Because he had reached his max, yet his max wasn’t anywhere near good enough. 

Alone in the weight room, Asher crouched down and put his head between his knees. Took a few deep breaths. Tried to act like, oh you know, not a spoiled brat. He could work this out. He could find the solution. There had to be one somewhere, right?

Right?

He sighed again, standing up to put the weights back on the rack. Pushing through another rep of his max wasn’t gonna do anything major, but a 3 mile cool down around the field might up his endurance. As he began his stretches and warmed up, all he could think about was how much he just wanted to _talk_ to someone about this. He felt like everything would just make so much more sense if he could just say it out loud.

But who would he talk to? Looking around, his options are pretty limited. He couldn’t tell Olivia. He nearly laughed out loud thinking about how that conversation would go.

“ _Oh yeah, my max is what the star football player who lives two doors down the hall from you benches before breakfast. You know, the one who took my position and my girlfriend?”_

Stepping out into the cooling evening air, Asher shook his head as he began his run around the field. Counting out the laps in his head, he ran through his other options.

Jordan? No. Have barely been on speaking terms ever since… everything. He couldn’t talk to his parents, and risk being kicked out or abandoned again. Layla wanted nothing to do with him anymore, which was… fair, he guessed. Talking to Coach was out of the question as well. If Baker got even the slightest hint that Asher was failing, he was sure to lose his position for good.

Seems like he would have to solve this on his own then.

As Asher rounded the corner of the field on his sixth lap, he thought about the small case in the side pocket of his duffle. Matt Springer, when he had surveyed practice, had slipped it into Asher’s hands as he was leaving. Told him to use it if he was “looking for a boost.”

When Asher got home, a sterile needle and bottle of steroids were looking back at him.

He had never used before. Besides drinking, Asher didn’t really partake in drugs of any kind. And his dad’s stints in alcoholism had nearly turned him off of that, too. But these were different. First of all, he had gotten them from Matt Springer, as in _the_ Super Bowl MVP. Why would he give them to him if they _didn’t_ work? And it wasn’t like Asher was using them to get high or anything. If he did use them, it would just be to get better at football. Which is what Coach Baker is always pushing them to do anyway. So, how bad could they be?

Asher shook his head again, pushing for a sprint down the length of the field on lap 9. He knew that steroids weren’t exactly what Baker had in mind when he said that. And honestly, Asher was a little scared to use them. As a kid he had been terrified of needles, and it really hadn’t gotten that much better with age. 

Asher kept thinking about it as he finished his laps, heading back to the weight room as soon as he was done. When he got back in, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Spencer finishing up a set of bicep curls. Asher gave him a brief wave before he headed over to his locker, opening it and checking his phone.

By checking, he meant staring at the black screen while he chewed the inside of his cheek. Asher had been there since practice ended three hours ago, and he hadn’t really taken a break. By all accounts, he should be done for the night. He should just grab a shower and head home. 

But seeing Spencer here made him feel strange. Not jealous, not angry, but more… competitive. Spencer was here working after literally being shot, for fuck’s sake. And Asher couldn’t stay to workout a little longer? He felt pathetic. He felt _weak._

He made up his mind. Making sure Spencer was occupied, locking himself in a bathroom stall, and reading a quick Wikipedia tutorial, the needle was in Asher’s arm. As soon as he pressed the plunger down, he felt instant regret. He felt disgusting, like the cheater he was last season. He felt gross.

That was before the rush hit. It was like someone had zapped him with a car battery. He felt electric. Whatever tiredness he had felt earlier was gone.

Leaving the bathroom and rounding the corner, he waved to Spencer again. “Want a lifting partner?” Asher asked, the confident smile he flashed finally feeling real.

“Didn’t you just finish your workout?” Spencer asked with a confused look on his face.

“Nah. I was just doing a warm up mile around the field. I’ve still got a whole set to go.”

Spencer gave him an uncertain smile, but waved him over all the same. “Well then, let’s go.”

The two weren’t close by any means. Just because they weren’t currently at odds didn’t mean that they were friends. But they were teammates, and Spencer had been there for Olivia when Asher couldn’t. Spencer had done everything for this team. That made him ok in Asher’s book, even if he _was_ the guy gunning for his position. 

As they worked through the sets, Asher could see Spencer tiring. He had been shot, after all. But Asher had never felt better. After the pair had finished up and Spencer went for a shower, Asher kept pushing. He pushed long after Spencer had left the weight room, long after the time he should’ve started heading home, long after what he would’ve been able to work until without the steroids. It finally felt like all the work Asher was putting in was paying off.

Late into the night, Asher finally decided he was done. He checked the clock and couldn’t believe how long he had been pushing. And that was only with one small dose! As he showered and changed, his mind raced with the possibilities of what continued doses could do for him. This wasn’t an addiction, and it wouldn’t become one either. It was simply a tactic to get stronger, to be better for his team, for his dad, for his future. He would be smart about it.

The drive home was uneventful. Stepping into his house quietly, Asher was unsurprised to see his dad passed out drunk on the couch. His mother’s recent resurfacing had led his father into another relapse, and it seemed as though his drinking habits were finally here to stay. Any time Asher brought up the possibility of a rehab program, he was immediately shut down. 

“If you’re gonna talk like that, take your mouth and your stuff off to wherever the fuck your mother is.”

His father had made the rules simple enough, so Asher didn’t mention the bottles and his dad let him live in the house. As long as his dad kept his job, things could be worse.

Instead of going to bed, as one does at midnight, he stayed up doing research. He was going to do this smart, and he wasn’t going to get caught. It was around 2:30am when he finally decided to head to bed, and that was when he realized he hadn’t talked to anyone besides Spencer James in the last nine hours. Checking his phone, he saw three missed texts from Olivia.

_“Hey, you busy after practice? How do you feel ab a study date ;)”_

_“My dad said you stayed after to workout, so just lmk when you head home”_

_“I’m headed to bed, hope you had a good workout! Tty tomorrow <3” _

He felt like a dick, ignoring her all day and then lying to her. But no one would believe that he worked out that long. Not without some sort of help. Making up some quick bull shit that his phone died, he promised to pick her up for school tomorrow and take her out after, to make up for it. There. That should make up for today’s episode of _World’s Shittiest Boyfriend_ starring the one and only Asher Adams. 

He laid down to sleep, finally feeling tired. With any luck, today would be the start of Asher’s return to his former glory. From now on, he had a chance of being as great a player as his team deserved. 

\--------------

The next day Asher made good on his promise. Waking up at 5:00, he went to the gym to do a quick workout, no, ah… additives... included. He showered and changed, leaving with enough time to swing by Liv’s favorite coffee place and their usuals before picking her up. He stopped in front of her house and sent her a quick text:

_I’m out front whenever you’re ready_

It seemed like only seconds later she was hanging out the door, waving a quick goodbye to someone else still inside. She looked beautiful today, but she looked beautiful every day. Her hair was down and loose, with a small section in the front pulled back into a bun. She was wearing a graphic tee and a skirt, and some black shoes to match. Asher honestly would have stared at her all day, had she not opened the car door, jerking him out of his reverie. 

Olivia gave him a quick kiss before taking notice of the coffee. “Aw, Asher, you shouldn’t have!” she said, smiling around the brim of the coffee cup as she took a sip.

He laughed. “No, no. This is my way of apologizing for going MIA yesterday. My phone died before practice, and I just didn’t think to look at it once I got home. I had a shit ton of homework” he said easily.

The lies felt like acid on his tongue. It was a strange feeling. Lying wasn’t something he was unfamiliar with. In fact, he often wondered if he lied more than he told the truth. Some higher being somewhere was probably keeping track, and that was one score Asher wasn’t sure he wanted to see.

Lying to Olivia felt different, though. She was always so open with him, so willing to be vulnerable with him so that he could be vulnerable with her. Lying felt like throwing it back in her face. 

Olivia believed him. Obviously. She had no reason to think he would lie. His stomach turned, and all the confidence and planning from last night had gone out the window. He suddenly felt very dirty again.

Completely oblivious, Liv babbled on about her day yesterday and plans for today. She talked about her podcast, which Asher had listened to during his workout. She talked about the next SoLa Muse meeting, and some proposal she had to plan for it. Liv talked a million miles a minute sometimes, and Asher loved every second. Sometimes he wished he could sit and listen to her for hours.

Unfortunately, the drive was short, and Liv stopped rambling as he parked his car. He was surprised when he felt her hand on his as he started to get out. He met her eyes and was surprised to see the worry behind hers.

“Asher, are ok? You look kind of tired.”

For some reason, his stomach dropped. He was sure she knew everything, that she could smell the lies coming off him. Forcing himself to think rationally, he squeezed her hand in his.

“Yeah, I guess I am a little tired. I did an extra workout after practice yesterday with Spencer. I guess it just took a little bit more out of me than I was expecting” he said. There, finally, some truth. And, now his ass was covered with James.

Her worried look lessened, and she gave him a quick kiss. “Oh, ok,” she smiled, “You two push yourselves too hard. Try and cut yourself some slack.”

Asher laughed, getting out of the car and grabbing his bag from the backseat. “I’ll start easing up when you do, miss ‘250 listeners on her podcast,’” he joked.

At that, Olivia’s face lit up. “Did you see that? It’s insane! I can’t believe so many people care what I have to say! And it was literally just last week that…” She kept going, the moment in the car forgotten. Asher felt a wave of relief wash over him as he walked with her into the school. 

They didn’t have the same first period, so he walked her to her class before heading to his. He had, thankfully, done the work for this one, so he finished up his other school work while the history teacher droned on about Marxist theory. Following his plan, if he got all his schoolwork done, he could spend his two free periods in the weight room to get in a quick workout before lunch.

And he did just that. Nothing serious, just a couple reps, and no special “additives” needed. He would only be using those before practices, and increasing the dosage before scrimmages or games. Playing it smart.

After his workout, he grabbed a quick shower before changing back into his clothes for school. As he was leaving the weight room, he ran into Coach Baker. Asher had to calm his pounding heart. There was no way Baker knew anything about anything. He just had to keep his cool.

“Adams!” Coach barked, looking especially threatening in his navy tracksuit. “What are you doing down here?”

Asher motioned to the equipment around the room. “Just getting in a quick workout, Coach. Grind doesn’t stop, or, whatever,” Asher trailed off.

There was a second where Asher was _sure_ Baker wouldn’t believe him, that he would pull out secret video footage of Asher “shooting up” last night. He was sure he was caught.

Baker broke into a huge smile. “Now THAT is some captain behavior Adams! Way to be” Coach clapped his shoulder before heading into his office, closing the door behind him. Asher nodded, mostly to himself, and continued on his way. 

He _had_ to stop freaking out so much. If you play it cool, people will believe you’re cool. Simple as that.

\------

As the weeks went on, Asher’s days continued much like the first. He picked Olivia up every morning to make up for the time lost with her due to his extra practices. He works out once in the morning, once before lunch, and once after football practice. He messaged Matt Springer, asked if he could get a “one-on-one” practice with him to run some drills. Springer hooked him up for a relatively low price, and seemed legitimately excited that Asher was following his advice. Matt also gave him the number of his guy, presumably to cut out the middle man. Asher was only 17 after all. He couldn’t imagine the scandal Matt would face if they got caught.

It seemed as though everything was working out. Asher was getting stronger and faster, and his performance had never been better. He didn’t look noticeably all that different, but he felt incredible. And if the bags under his eyes seemed a little bit darker than normal, well, it wasn’t like anyone else noticed it.

Things ran smoothly for about two weeks. For two weeks, Asher lived on top of the world.

Then things kinda crashed and burned around him, so to speak.

The beginning of the end did not start at all like one would expect. Asher was betting that his demise would come about by getting careless, so he hid his kit whenever it wasn’t being used. He only used it in a bathroom stall, even when he was positive no one else was around. He bruised easy, so he put the needle high up on his arm, where his sleeves covered it. If anyone asked, he would just say it was from football.

He didn’t improve too quickly, either. He made sure to start slow, work himself up, make it believable. It was fast, sure, but not so fast that anyone called him out. People just chalked it up to a great diet and plenty of hard exercise. 

No. His undoing, as usual, was his dad. 

Harold Adams had never been a violent person. Much the opposite, in fact. His father had been cold and distant, and so when Harold found out he was going to have a son, he vowed to never be like that. He vowed to be the father he never had. 

His wife leaving him made him forget that promise.

He lived his days in a haze now. There was a brief moment where he was doing better, going to AA, being present in his son’s life. There was a brief moment where Harold thought, _hey, maybe he’s got this_. But brief moments are, well, brief. His wife’s unexpected return with the divorce papers sent him spiraling.

Since then, Harold had been living to drink. He woke up in the morning, took a shot or two before work, and then spent the next eight hours sitting behind a desk. When he got home, he opened up a bottle of whatever was strongest, and sat in front of the TV until his thoughts disappeared and his vision went black. Rinse and repeat.

Asher had tried to shake him out of it, tried gentle comfort, yelling in his face, ignoring him outright. Nothing phased Harold. Asher sometimes wondered if this was just how it would be.

All that being said, Harold was more of an annoyance and source of pity more than anything else. His paycheck still came in biweekly, and Asher took care of the bills and groceries. It sucked not having his dad around mentally, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to it.

On this particular day, however, when Asher came home, the energy felt… different. His dad was in front on the loud TV, watching some football highlights from the previous weekend’s games. But instead of being hunched in the seat, snoring, Harold was upright and tense, staring at the screen with intensity.

Asher took a hesitant step towards him. “Hey, uh, Dad? Is everything ok?”

At first, Asher wasn’t even sure he had spoken. There was no reaction from Harold, no indication that he had even heard Asher come in. Suddenly, Harold shot up from the seat and turned around, his face angry and red.

“Is everything ok? _IS EVERYTHING OK?_ Does anything _look_ ok to you, Asher? Can you tell me that?” Harold raged, suddenly in Asher’s face and poking his chest.

Asher didn’t even know what to say. He couldn’t even imagine what his dad was talking about. It wasn’t like Harold had been to any of the recent practices or scrimmages. How would he know how Asher had been doing? And if he had, he would’ve seen Asher’s improvement. If anything, he should be _proud_.

 _That_ thought made Asher mad. It made him _furious_ . He had been doing so much, working _so hard_ to improve, and his dad was what? Mad at him? For doing everything he asked?

Asher didn’t even think. The finger in his chest was condescending and uncalled for, and he wanted it gone. Asher put his hands on Harold’s shoulders and shoved him back. Harold stumbled into the couch, his eyes glassy and confused. That confusion quickly turned to rage.

Asher’s stomach dropped out. He didn’t know why he did that. Why would he push his dad? What the hell was wrong with him?

“Dad, I’m- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you, it’s just-”

Asher opened his eyes and he was on the floor. He tentatively brought a hand up to his mouth and it came away bloody. His dad had _punched_ him.

Asher didn’t even have a moment to process what had just happened. He took one look up at his dad just in time to see another fist coming down, this one hitting him on the side of his face, making his neck snap to the right from the force of the impact.

His dad was on top of him, and the third punch came quick. Asher couldn’t process what was happening fast enough to do anything about it. One, two punches more, and then the weight disappeared from above.

His dad was standing over him, his gaze turned back toward the TV. He shook his head, muttered something, and left. He headed back to his room. Asher felt blood trickle from his nose.

He doesn’t know how long he laid there. Until his breath calmed, his heart slowed, his blood dried. Slowly, carefully, he picked himself up. Turned off the TV, straightened the couch cushions, wiped the blood off the floor. He went upstairs and took a shower, cleaned his face, iced the welts that were forming.

He felt a little bit like he was floating. With all the evidence gone except for the bruises, he could almost convince himself that it didn’t happen. He could almost believe that his dad didn’t just beat the shit out of him.

Asher wanted to be mad. He wanted to be so angry he couldn’t see, barge into his dad’s room, and get him back. Hurt him like he hurt Asher. Punch him with all the weight that his dad had put on Asher’s shoulders behind it. 

But he wasn’t angry. Not even a little. He was so, so sad.

Asher couldn’t figure out what he had done. He didn’t know why he deserved that, _any_ of that. But there must have been a reason. There had to have been. Maybe this was some divine intervention, some sort of atonement for all the lying and cheating he had been doing recently.

Maybe he _did_ deserve it.

He went to bed numb. He didn’t sleep for a long time. For a while, he tried to think of what he was gonna say when someone asked him about the bruises. He didn’t know why he was covering for his dad. Asher just knew that if anyone found out about this, he... 

Well, Asher just wouldn’t let anyone find out about this.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the first thing I have posted in a minute. I would love and appreciate any criticism you have! Also, I am not really that familiar with this site, so if any of the warnings or tags or anything need to be edited, please let me know!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and please let me know what you think!
> 
> I am not the most reliable updater, but given all this extra quaran-time I should have one up relatively soon. Again, thank you!


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